


Trapped

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Trapped, Young Chris Argent, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Peter walks into a trap. It's alright. He's going to free himself. He doesn't need help. Especially not from an Argent. (Written for number 99: "Be careful")
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698595
Comments: 4
Kudos: 101





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> These short stories are written for prompts on this list: [One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You"](https://phantasticlizzy.tumblr.com/post/169119615088/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)
> 
> You can prompt me, just send me the number and a ship on tumblr: [ready-to-kick-some-ass](https://ready-to-kick-some-ass.tumblr.com/) :)

The world is upside down. 

Peter is tired of staring at the same tree from which he’s dangling headfirst. He curses quietly and tries to get his upper body up high enough to reach the rope around his ankle with his claws. It’s not his first attempt, but like the last times, he doesn’t get close enough before he has to give it up and falls back, pain shooting through his whole body at the strain. 

He closes his eyes when a wave of nausea rushes through him while the world is swaying around him. All blood rushes into his head and he can hear it mingling with the rapid pace of his heartbeat.

Peter takes a deep breath, intending to try again in a moment, when his muscles stop aching. This is stupid. In the beginning, he was just annoyed, but by now, he can smell his own panic. Why did he have to run that far. No member of the pack is going to search for him here. They won’t even miss him. Not yet. They all know that he likes to take long runs in the nights before the full moon. And he doesn’t dare to howl for help, both because he’s too damn proud and because he doesn’t know how far the hunters are that set this damn trap up. 

Peter growls at the thought of hunters and his eyes flash. Whoever did this is so dead. He’s going to … 

“Do you need help?”  
  
Peter freezes at the voice echoing through the dark forest. Calm and firm, with just a little hint of amusement in it. He knows that voice. Knows it well enough. Of course. Of course it has to be Christopher fucking Argent who finds him like this. 

Chris steps out between the trees almost soundlessly, dressed in smooth leather and carrying his favourite crossbow over his shoulder. He looks up at Peter and his lips twitch. That bastard. 

Peter scowls. “Did _you_ set this thing up?”  
  
Chris wrinkles his nose. He circles Peter, inspecting the rope and looking where it leads to. “Mine would have been better.” He smirks. “I would have taken care you can’t move at all.”

Peter snorts. He wants to make a snarky comment, but his head hurts and he can’t think of anything smart right now. Besides, he knows deep down, Chris is right. His trap would be much better, because Chris is already one of the best, although he’s still a lanky teenager and doesn’t know better than lurking close to a werewolf. 

Peter still remembers, how Chris came to him in school, leaning against the lockers while Peter was searching for a book, how he grinned and his ridiculously crystal blue eyes sparkled as he said, “I know what you are.” 

Peter slammed the locker shut and turned to face Chris. “Well, I know what _you_ are too,” he said coldly. The name Argent told him enough. That the old hunter family came back to Beacon Hills sent quite a shockwave through the regional werewolf community. Especially because Gerard. They were all wary, but when Peter studied Chris’ eyes, he didn’t see bloodlust or hatred in them. They were filled with a strange kind of fascination and curiosity. 

Suddenly, a hand was offered to him. “Christopher Argent.”  
  
Peter frowned. He stared at the hand. Then up at Chris, who was still smiling. Peter could smell him. Oil, leather and something earthy, that actually reminded him of the forest. His eyes were sparkling like a mountain lake in the sun. Something in Peter’s stomach dropped. He took the hand and shook it curtly. “Peter Hale.” 

Later, when Peter was in his bed, a blanket over his head to fade out Derek’s too loud horrible pop music, he tried to read, but couldn’t focus on the letters, because every time he opened his eyes, he saw these eyes in front of him and remembered the smell. 

The next days, even weeks, Chris came to him again and again, and when Peter turned his back and pretended to not care, when he scowled and insulted or made crude comments, Chris still talked to him, still stayed. Still looked at him with these lake-eyes and this sure grin and his slightly arrogant posture that showed he was very aware of his attractiveness. To Peter's annoyance, Chris even tried to get them teamed up in school projects. He was doing a lot to be close to someone he should treat with caution.

It was strange. If Chris hadn't been a hunter and his father not a known werewolf hater, if Peter hadn't been a werewolf and a member of the biggest pack in Beacon Hills, he would have thought Chris was trying to flirt with him. 

But that thought was … ridiculous.

“So,” Chris says, crossing his arms and watching how Peter’s body gently sways from side to side. “Do you need help or not?”

Peter swallows. Something inside him wants to say yes, but there’s so much else he’s feeling, so much reluctance and forced hatred. Peter growls, baring his fangs.“I don’t need help. Especially not from an Argent,” he spits. “I’ll free myself.”

“Alright,” Chris shrugs. To Peter’s horror, he sits on the forest floor, stretching out his legs. “I’ll wait.”

_Asshole._

Peter swallows and prepares to get his body up. This time, he really has to put strength behind it. This time, he can’t fail. It would be too humiliating. He takes a few deep breaths and then lunges up with a growl, aiming his claws for the rope. The top of a claw touches the rope, but that’s not enough. It’s not enough. He falls back down with a muffled groan, swaying from side to side. 

Chris shifts. It looks like he wants to get up. His eyes soften. “I can help, Peter …”

“Piss off!” Peter yells, groaning when he feels the rope cutting into the skin of his ankle even deeper. “Just piss off. I don’t need you.” 

Chris stares up at him, his face impassive. “Alright. Bye, Peter.” He gets up, adjusts his crossbow and turns around, going back to the trees, back into the forest. 

Peter stares after him, a wave of desperation rushing through him.  
  
Fuck. Fuck! 

He’s never going to get out of this trap alone. Chris offered help. And now he’s leaving. Peter swallows down a whine and closes his eyes. He hates this. Hates it so, so much. “Wait.”

Chris stops abruptly. He turns around and looks up at Peter. “What?” He cocks an eyebrow. 

Peter sighs in defeat. “Help me.”

“Ask nicely,” Chris says slowly, a smirk spreading on his face. “Mind your manners, Peter.” 

Peter wants to rip his throat out for this. He growls. “Help me. Please.” 

“Was that so difficult?” Chris approaches and searches around in the grass for a while, until he finds where the trap is secured. He pulls out his knife and glances up at Peter. “Ready?” He asks. 

Peter nods, preparing himself for the fall. Chris cuts the rope in one swift movement. 

Peter lands in the grass on all fours and gets up as graceful as possible with his aching limbs, grateful he at least didn’t fall on his face in front of the hunter, who still watches him. 

Peter scowls and turns away. Everything inside him wants to run off, wants to vanish in the woods, wants to forget being so helpless he has to beg a hunter to help him. But … at the same time he’s reluctant to leave. 

“No thank you?” Chris asks, behind him. 

Peter looks at him over his shoulder. Chris is standing there with the knife still in his hand, his eyebrows raised and his smile crooked. He looks good in the dim moonlight. Looks like a predator of his own kind. Peter shivers involuntarily. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles. 

“You’re welcome,” Chris says, putting the knife back into his ankle holster. 

A moment of silence lingers between them, only disturbed by an owl crying out. 

Peter reads something in Chris' look and posture. He sighs. “What do you want?” He asks relucantly. Everyone always wants something. 

Chris smiles. “Just dinner.”

“Dinner,” Peter echos, disbelieving.

“Yes. Dinner. There’s that new place in town. It’s said to have excellent Sushi,” Chris says, and he’s serious, Peter realises. Completely serious. He’s at a loss for words. Which really doesn’t happen often. 

Chris frowns after a while, when Peter doesn’t say anything. But his smile stays. “Is it that bad? Does the thought of having dinner with me once making you sick?” He asks, tilting his head. 

“No,” Peter says quickly. “No. It’s just …” _I just don’t know how to deal with this. With you being an asshole and at the same time ... too damn nice._ The thought doesn’t come over his lips. But when Chris starts to smell disappointed, Peter says, “Ok. We can have dinner.” 

Chris lightens up. “Great. Saturday evening?” 

“Sure.”  
  
Suddenly, there’s howling in the distance and Peter flinches. It’s Talia, and she doesn’t sound happy. Rather worried and slightly angry. His wolf immediately wants to run into the direction of her howl, wants to find his Alpha, wants to know how to please her. He fights the urge off for another moment and manages to smile at Chris. “I have to go. Till Saturday?”  
  
Chris nods. “Saturday. Bye, Peter.” 

Peter exhales shakily and turns around, ready to run.  
  
But before he can disappear in the woods, he catches Chris’ words. 

“Be careful, Peter,” he says. It sounds softer than anything else Chris said tonight. It confuses Peter and at the same time makes him feel something warm, something warm wrapping around his heart. He runs, the words echoing in his mind.


End file.
